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Them boys, they are tough nuts. But, well, I promise they'll crack eventually. Even if they have to knock their skulls together again.

I don't own them, and I mean no harm to those who do. I earn nothing for what I post here.

Chapter 5 – Two Peas in a (Bright Orange) Pod

Going home turned out to be easier than it ought to have been. Home. How could Jesse send me here, and call this home? As if the farm was not my home… But those were plane thoughts, the kind of thing that made perfect sense when cruising at thirty thousand feet between here and where you were going. On the ground Luke had a used pickup, a rented cabin, a job where people were counting on him; exactly the kind of things that could confuse him into believing this was where he was meant to be.

He'd been practicing ever since he'd hit puberty to be the Duke patriarch. Never a doubt in his mind about the rightness of that. And then there was Bo, the only one who could make him doubt everything. Making him wonder whether the farm was maybe Bo's birthright. Because his cousin never really had a strong desire to stray too far. And Luke, as much as he expected to take over some day, had also thought about leaving.

But Bo had only wanted to be on the NASCAR circuit since he was old enough to understand that the pedal on the right made the car go (never really figured out the purpose of that pedal just to its left, did you, cuz?), and Luke thought he ought to get every minute of enjoyment out of being on the circuit that he could. After that he could retire and come home to his part of the farm. Why was that brat so impossible anyway? Luke just wanted to take care of him, like he always had.

And there was no solution to this problem, not until Bo stopped being so dang stubborn and just plain wrong about this. So Luke jumped (literally) back into work and tried not to think about the health of the man who had raised him. Called Jesse weekly, but studiously avoided the question.

What was he supposed to say, anyway? So, do you think you'll be dying anytime soon, Uncle Jesse? Shook these thoughts from his head and worked at slipping back into his life here in Montana.

Bo technically lived close enough to check on Jesse, at least when he wasn't traveling. And at first he did so, and frequently, but the old man was stubborn. Insisted that he was fine and even if he wasn't Bo shouldn't come home so often until he and Luke had worked things out.

As if such a thing was possible when dealing with a mule like his cousin. His cousin, who could just go back to Montana and forget in an instant that they had ever been close, that they had shared a room for something like twenty-five years. Could forget the hours spent creating forts from discarded planks in the woods near home, or fishing trips that lasted for days. Somehow, could walk away from the cousin that always looked up to him (of course he can, Bo. He ain't never needed you like you needed him).

Needed. Well, that was a different thing all together. No doubt in Bo's mind that if something went wrong, as big as an accident on the track or as small as needing to borrow a few bucks, Luke would be there for him. Felt, simply, like it should take a lot less than a problem to bring Luke back into his life. Like maybe his cousin ought to miss him or something.

Doing really fast laps around a track helped, but didn't take the sting out of that thought. Somehow, Luke didn't mind the loss of all the things that Bo did.

Well, fine. The Duke cousins had always been two peas in a (bright orange) pod, so if Luke could manage not to be nostalgic about their childhood, so could he.

There was no doubt in Luke's mind that these things were easier for Bo. When he was happy, he yelled, and when he was angry he hollered and no matter what it was, it just came flying straight out of Bo's mouth without wasting any time in his brain. Whereas with Luke it languished and festered as he turned it over in his head, looking from every angle to try to find the light of day at the other end. And that overgrown kid of a cousin of his was content to let Luke do all that turning and looking and thinking while he just drove happy laps around some track somewhere.

What did Bo want? All he was trying to do was let his cousin enjoy that chance of a lifetime to do what he loved, what he was really good at, before taking on the responsibilities of a farm. Turned the idea over in his head so many times he was getting seasick, and he still couldn't spot the answer.

So he took a couple of days and went to the salt flats of Utah, knowing it was a place where speed limits were not enforced. Figured it was the closest he would get to the release of driving his frustrations away, just like he imagined Bo was doing, just like the two of them had always done back when frustration consisted of something as stupid as a fake radar detector and Boss Hogg's claim that the boys had destroyed it.

White nothingness all around him, hot, no clear border between land and sky, and Luke was pushing the pickup for all it was worth. It wasn't the General, but without Rosco on his tail that didn't matter.

Without Rosco on his tail…

Without Bo there goading him, telling him that he was slower than a three legged turtle…

Without any hills or trees or anything that felt real… Just egg-shell cracks in the bright, hard ground all around him.

Without a reason to do anything at all, Luke stopped doing anything at all. Sat there in the middle of a salt desert, staring at nothing, pickup still running, but not moving an inch. Looked for an answer in all that white. Thought he saw it for a split second, but it melted skyward like the mirage it had been.

Sat there too long, because while the highway was within reasonable distance, the nearest gas station was not. And when Luke realized his mistake, he took himself as far as he could, then was reduced to waiting for any help that might come along on the nearly desolate Interstate 80.

Utah wasn't Hazzard.

Should have waited until he could make the trip east to have this conversation. It was not going well, not with Bo misconstruing his every word.

They called each other often enough, but the telephone had never been their friend. Somehow Bo always seemed already annoyed when he answered the phone, even when he had tried to reach Luke first, leaving a message on the older man's answering machine, a gadget so cheap it didn't even contain Luke's voice, just a pre-recorded, generic greeting. He didn't blame his younger cousin for hating the machine; he hated it too. Never needed such a thing in Hazzard. Between the telephone, personal visits, and the CB, all communication needs were taken care of. No impersonal machines to talk to there.

Time zones. Bo was always muttering about those. But it wasn't Luke's fault that he was two hours behind Bo (or was it? Who said he had to go so far away from his cousin in the first place?).

Spending that one surprisingly cold night in the salt desert while waiting for help from a stranger just to get his pickup rolling again had made Luke rethink things. A lot of things. Like how he could take care of himself (no doubt about it) in any situation. How darkness didn't scare him (didn't, actually, but the fact that he could disappear into it without a trace didn't exactly thrill him) but he still wasn't sure he should trust anyone that stopped to help him. Not like Hazzard, where he knew friends and neighbors wouldn't let any harm come to him. Not like Hazzard, where he'd always had family around, and where the situation would never arise that he was out of gas, on a highway, and alone, not when his youngest cousin was always within arm's reach. And with Bo at his side, he could face down whatever came by way of danger - from a rattlesnake to a gun.

Thoughts of just who might be traveling through the desert in the middle of the night made him decide not to signal for help until morning, figuring that in the day he could judge whoever it was that stopped, and determine his relative safety. At least in the light he could see potential trouble coming.

So he sat in his darkened vehicle and waited, not sleeping. Trying not to think too hard, but that was like telling Rosco not to get excited during a chase. Thinking, of course, about Bo. Wondering what Bo wanted, getting angry, frustrated, annoyed, then realizing something –

"Bo, what do you want?" Words that he had never said to his cousin before. Always assumed he knew the answer without having to ask (actually did used to know, but now he had to admit that he didn't).

Sat in the complete darkness of his pickup, staring into desert that he knew must be out there somewhere, and realized that he'd never asked exactly that question, so now he was saying the words into the telephone.

Words that his cousin clearly didn't understand to be genuine. Why should he? Most everything you've ever said to him has been sarcastic. Not that Bo was exactly innocent when it came to that, either.

Should have been patient, but Bo would never allow that. Knew exactly how to keep peace from being a possibility.

"What does it matter what I want, Luke? What I want ain't never affected what you do, anyways."

And that just wasn't fair. If there was anything he had done, it was to adapt around his younger cousin's needs, around what he assumed Bo wanted. He might never have asked, but it didn't mean he had been selfish.

And there went his Duke pride, asserting itself full force. Not even the slightest trace of civility in his tone, but definitely his own voice, saying, "You know, you could just trust me. The world would probably manage to keep on spinning if you did." Congratulations, Luke, you've finally learned the fine art of saying things without thinking. Bo ought to be proud of you.

But, of course, he was not. Bo was too busy slamming the phone down in Luke's ear to be anything close to proud. And, in truth, Luke didn't blame him one bit. Mentally smacking his own forehead, he just put the useless piece of plastic, the thing that had been a link to his cousin only seconds before, back into its cradle. Didn't even try to call Bo back, because he didn't exactly want to talk to a dang answering machine, either. Just said a silent prayer that Bo wouldn't kill himself out there, literally driving the pain away at a speed that Luke knew would be well over a hundred miles per hour.

Figured he should probably give his cousin a good month to cool off.

He was tired after a grueling few days in the Rockies, fighting alongside brothers just like he had all those years ago, in different terrain, against a different enemy. Exhausted, but they had won, and unlike all those years ago, Luke knew he could go home to safety and complete rest. Which he'd need, because there was always another fire about to start. The whole mountain west was a tinderbox this fall.

Eyes swollen from smoke and a lack of sleep, Luke parked his truck and stumbled towards the cabin, looking neither right nor left, nor even, really, forward. Autopilot had always been his saving grace.

Almost tripped over the man sitting on the tiny porch of his rented home, and that was a lot of man to trip over. Would have hurt plenty, if Bo hadn't put out his hands, half in self-defense, half to catch his clearly sleep-deprived cousin. It was likely the weirdest hug the two had ever shared, but they weren't complaining, for a change. Instead, they were trying to figure out the least painful angle from which to do this, bodies shifting position, passing through Luke kneeling on the step below Bo (which was by necessity only the most temporary of positions, as it allowed Bo to tower over him in an unacceptable way), and finally resolving with them both twisting, sliding across one another and otherwise fumbling until they sat side-by-side on the bottom step, legs bent at awkward angles, since they were much too tall to be this close to the ground. Snicker in Luke's shoulder, prompting –

"What?" A growl, because he knew that Bo was about to come out with something snide. After all, Luke would have done the same if he hadn't been so dang tired.

"You're gettin' old, cuz. We used to be able to switch places while the General was in motion, and now you can't even walk up the stairs straight."

Finally letting go of his cousin with one arm, Luke ran a hand down his own face. So many comebacks presented themselves, but he didn't have the energy to do more than snort.

"You didn't tell me you had a race out here, Bo." Came out kind of grumpily and that wasn't what he wanted, but then again, he was somewhat miffed that Bo hadn't said anything about coming west.

Bo also released one hand from around Luke's shoulders, but kept the other one there, steadying almost more than being affectionate right now. Apparently his cousin had just enough reserves to drive himself home and make it to bed. This conversation had not been part of his – as always – split second timing.

"I don't." A simple statement, requiring no explanation greater than a small shrug of the shoulders, he felt. Apparently Luke disagreed.

"Then what're you doing here?"

Ain't I welcome? A thought, but he didn't ask, showing more restraint than he normally would. No point in arguing with his grouchy cousin right now, and he knew it. Knew Luke's moods almost better than his own.

"I'm here to make sure you make it safely to your bed, Luke." Got a quizzical expression for that one, a minor victory. Bo had always been particularly fond of those moments when he could out-think his oh-so-smart cousin. "Come on," he grunted, hoisting them both upward, "We'll talk later."

Too sleepy to fight him, Luke let Bo lead him inside, saw his cousin figuring out the rooms as he went. He ain't ever even seen where I live was his last conscious thought.